


An Awakening

by Leela



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Outing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>@GossZone: Love conquers (hetero)sexuality? For @adamlambert and @TommyJoeRatliff it did. Kissing in the garden ain't fanservice!</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HannaBec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaBec/gifts).



> **Betas** : batdina, aislinntlc
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This is fiction, folks, about characters who bear only superficial resemblance to real people, and who live in a different 'verse than ours. IOW, it's lies all lies.
> 
>  **A/N** : Written for @HannaBec, who bid on and won one of my charity water auctions. She requested Adam/Tommy and hurt/comfort. Luckily, my word count promises were minimums, because this ended up a lot more than the 1k mentioned in the auction post. Oops?

> The Gossip Zone  
>  @GossZone  
>  Love conquers (hetero)sexuality? For @adamlambert and @TommyJoeRatliff it did. Kissing in the garden ain't fanservice! http://twitpic.com/xx69xx

The picture hit at the speed of light, flashing across the internet, splashing onto TV screens on TMZ and other trashy shows that Tommy never fucking watched. He might even have remained blissfully innocent if his phone hadn't vibrated under his pillow at ass o'clock.

After three stabs at his phone, Tommy managed to answer it. "Nuh?"

"Morning to you, too." 

"Mom?" He shoved himself upright and scrubbed a hand across his eyes and through his hair, scowling when his fingers got stuck on whatever the fuck he'd managed to get in it the night before. 

"Tommy, honey," his mom said, "you need to be awake for this."

"'M awake." Yawning, Tommy rubbed his fingers together and felt something crusty between them. He squinted at his hand. White flakes that he hoped to shit weren't what he thought they were. 

"You're not listening to me." 

Tommy hummed. There wasn't much point in denying the truth, but that was a world away from giving her anything resembling satisfaction. 

"It's about you and Adam last night?"

Images returned to Tommy: of the dinner with friends at the Cherrys, of Isaac making everyone laugh with stories from the latest performance, of Adam being cool and comfortable and relaxed for a change, of Scarlett putting her hat on his head and taking pictures. Of kissing Adam, rubbing against him, feeling that fucking brilliant dick against his hip. Of the promises Adam whispered in his ear for when they got home—

"Tommy," his mom yelled into the phone. "Listen to me now."

Eyes blinking wide open, Tommy sat up straight and pulled his legs up, crossing them. "What?"

"You're on the news," she said. "One of those invasive bastards with a telephoto lens caught you in the backyard last night."

His mind snagging on the curse word that had come out of his mum's mouth, it took Tommy a second to realize what she'd just said. And then he cursed, long and loud.

"Tommy Joe Ratliff, that's enough. I don't care what you do with your friends, but you will not use words like that in my presence." 

"Yes, Mom," he said, scanning the bedroom for his iPad. Nowhere to be seen, of course. Only his phone ever seemed to end up where he could find it. He threw back the covers and got out of bed, stumbling through into the living room. "Like, how bad is it?"

"I know you were planning to take your time before telling the world," she said. "But I think that time is past. There's only one explanation for what you were doing."

Spying the black cover of his iPad peeking out from under a couch cushion, Tommy flopped down next to it and pulled it out. He flipped the cover, going straight to Twitter. Whatever was going on, his @'s would be full of it, good and bad. "Yeah, okay, I s'pose. Can spin it if we need to. Like, you know, if Adam wants—"

"You will not sell yourself short, and I will not countenance lying."

"Not fucking lying," he said. "Just, you know, maybe not quite the whole truth."

His mom clicked her tongue in that disapproving way she had, and Tommy cringed. "Don't sell yourself short. If you insist on doing this... this _thing_ with Adam, then I expect you to do it with your head held high." And then she was gone.

The picture was awesome, and it was totally, unmistakably them. The photographer had caught Adam facing the camera and a side-view of Tommy. Both of them lit by the candles and the fire from the pit. Adam had his back pressed against a tree and Tommy was at an angle pushing into Adam. There was no way to miss the fact that Adam had a firm grip on Tommy's hair, or that Tommy's hand was down Adam's pants.

"Fuuuuuuck," Tommy said, extending the vowel, caught between appreciation and a sense of creeping horror and violation.

As soon as his hands had stopped shaking enough to safely punch Adam's speed-dial without ending up on the phone with someone else by accident, Tommy called him.

o.0.o

"Adam! Tommy!"

Cameras flashed as they left the Arclight. His hand clasped firmly in Adam's, Tommy fought to keep his head up, not to duck and hide behind his bangs. Over the weeks since the news of their relationship had gone public, he'd learned the hard way that trying to hide from the paps only encouraged them.

"Any comment on the new single? Think this one's going to hit the Top 40 or is it 41 with a bullet again?"

"Give us another kiss, guys. You gotta do more than hold hands, right?"

As Adam responded to their increasingly rude questions, remaining calm and polite, refusing to react, no matter what shit the paps threw at him, Tommy did his best to tune them out. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth and worried at it, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. _Eat my ass_ , he thought loudly. _Fucking try to remember we're human beings, assholes_.

Eventually, though, they were in the car, with locked doors and closed windows between them and the voices. As soon as Adam started the engine, the tunes kicked in, sending the opening beat from _I Wanna Be Sedated_ thumping through the car, drowning out the sound of a pap making kissy noises.

"Bunch of rabid fucking assholes," Tommy muttered as Adam pulled the car away from the curb. He kept his fingers twined together until they were free from the pack. They didn't need another goddamn lecture from Adam's management like the one they'd had after having their picture plastered over all the world with Tommy flipping off the paps with both hands while Adam laughed his fucking ass off. 

"If I were a nicer person," Adam said, "I'd feel sorry for their lives." 

"I hope they get what they fucking deserve, the whole lot of them."

"And yet, if they weren't chasing me, my career would be fucked."

Not having any words for that, Tommy reached over and laid his hand on Adam's thigh. He could feel tension thrum through Adam's body one more time and then begin to ease. 

"Not going to forgive them." Feeling obstinate, Tommy stuck out his lower lip, just as the Ramones switched off into the pop horror that was Adam's current obsession. "That fucking asshole labeled me."

Adam took a hand off the wheel, placed his hand over Tommy's, and squeezed lightly.

An ache spread through Tommy, and he had to resist the urge to lean his head on Adam's shoulder to soak up his reassurance. "Just don't like the label, okay? I didn't stop liking anyone, girl, boy or in between, just because I hooked up with you."

When Adam didn't respond, Tommy gusted out a sigh and mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Everyone who matters knows that." Then, wishing he hadn't brought the whole damn mess up again, he pulled out his phone with his free hand and thumbed his way into Twitter. He skimmed his feed quickly, trying to skip past the @ replies from names he didn't recognize. The mood he was in, he'd fuck up badly by taking on one of the homophobes.

"Anything interesting?" 

"Nah. Same shit, different hour. Fans love me or hate me. Homophobes hate both of us. Although—" Tommy smirked at Adam "—EllaBeLambert believes I can still be saved if only I'd just show you the way to the light through the love of a good woman." 

"You are _saved_ ," Adam said in a creditable imitation of a late night preacher. 

They both started laughing, and Tommy turned his hand around to curl his fingers around Adam's. They stayed like that, sitting quietly as the iPod they kept in the car shuffled from pop to metal to some weird electronica shit that Adam had downloaded from a DJ's MySpace, to Depeche Mode. Adam drove, keeping the beat on the wheel, and Tommy read his DMs. 

Pausing on one from Mike, Tommy said, "You're doing interviews tomorrow?"

"All fucking day," Adam said. "Why?"

"'Cos Mike's just pinged me about meeting for lunch over at the Tallyrand. He wants to talk about doing another Mouthlike thing." 

"About time." 

Tommy nodded and disentangled his hand from Adam's to tap out and send a response. Getting the fuck out of the house for something that didn't involve Adam or the paps had to be a good idea. He'd had far too much fucking time to think lately, and thinking never led to anything good.

As soon as he'd pulled into the garage and turned off the car, Adam turned around and grabbed Tommy's hand again. Tommy tilted his head and looked at him. "All right?"

"It's not going to get any better," Adam said.

Letting his lips curl up into a smile, Tommy shrugged. "Knew what I was getting myself into, you know. Been watching you deal with it since you hired me." 

"But this is—"

The almost tentative look on Adam's face, the deepening of the vertical line between his eyebrows, the slight downturn of his lips had Tommy moving before Adam had finished saying the first word. By the time he reached the third, Tommy was free of his seatbelt and lurching across the space between their seats. He cut off whatever else Adam had been going to say by kissing him.

Tommy let himself get lost in the warmth and the feeling of Adam's mouth, the stroke of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth before pulling back. "We are so not gonna let a bunch of nosy asses fuck us up," he said. "We've got each other, our families and friends. Most of the fans, once they got over themselves. Hell, even Neil came over to read me the fucking riot act about treating you right. Meaningful as it gets, yeah?"

Adam's giggle didn't last long, and it barely reached his eyes, but it was enough to make Tommy smile with relief. 

"Gonna show them, baby boy," Tommy said, emphasizing the old nickname with a lick into Adam's mouth.

This time Adam's laugh was full and bright, and lasted until they stumbled through the door and into the house, arms wrapped around each other.

o.0.o

The lunch rush was over by the time Tommy arrived at the Tallyrand. Marty was chattering to another couple as she seated them. Knowing how long she could talk, he headed for a booth in the far corner of the dining section. She'd bring coffee and menus over soon enough.

He slid into the side facing the restaurant, ensuring that no one could sit behind him. Pulling out his phone, he glanced around. A few tables were occupied by late lunchers like him, families and couples, the occasional single person with a laptop or tablet, and one pair who were clearly working there. Tommy leaned back, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the back of the seat. The hard wood beneath his skull felt familiar, soothing. He'd missed this too fucking much. 

A vibration from his phone and the thunk of a mug being turned over made Tommy sit up and open his eyes. He thumbed his phone on and scanned Mike's text. Late as usual.

"You need to take better care of yourself. Been seeing pictures of you around, and I'm not impressed," Marty said. The rapid-fire cadence of her words spilled over Tommy, and he relaxed a little deeper into the padded booth. "Tell that cute guy of yours to bring you where people will take care of you properly. Those fancy restaurants won't keep the meat on your bones." 

Grunting in reply, Tommy reached for his coffee mug. The strong, slightly bitter drink made him sigh with pleasure. Not the best coffee in the world, he knew, but it was exactly what he needed. 

"Meeting one of those friends of yours, I suppose. I can't imagine that you'd come back just to say hello."

"Hell, yeah, I would," Tommy said, smiling at Marty. "It's not like I haven't been back, ya know."

"It doesn't count if it's not on my shift." 

"Missed you too."

She nodded and topped up his coffee as soon as he put the mug down. "Whenever you're ready, hon," she said, before walking over to another table.

Shoving the menu to one side — today was a day for comfort food, no need to look at it — Tommy opened the Twitter app on his phone and scrolled through his feed. He'd just retweeted Adam's latest when a flash went off. He raised his head, ready to snap someone's fucking head off, and looked into Mike's grinning face.

"Asshole," Tommy said, flipping him off.

"Bitch." Mike slid into the booth opposite Tommy. "Gotta pay the rent somehow, you know, now that my asshole roommate has run for the hills."

"Can't trust anyone these days."

Mike laughed, and Tommy grinned at him. They were quiet while the waiter came over and took their order, but as soon as he was gone, Mike asked, "Dude's still worth all the shit?"

"So fucking worth it." Tommy's lips curled up at the corners as he remembered the feel of Adam's body above his own that morning, the softness of his skin, the firm reassurance of his touch. 

"I know that look," Mike said, "and you don't need to give me any of the details behind it. As for the shit, you know where I am, right?"

"Appreciate it, dude." Tommy shoved his hair out of his eyes. "But, like, it's nothing we didn't expect. Most of the fans have calmed the fuck down at this point. It's just the fucking paps and their fucking cameras. I totally understand why people lose their shit and flip out on their asses." 

"Sucks to be you, man."

Before Tommy could reply, a loud laugh from across the room was followed by Marty calling on everyone to sing happy birthday for someone named Tamra. Mike raised his voice to join the crowd, and Tommy banged his hand on the table, keeping time. By the time that was over, their food had arrived and the conversation moved on to music and Mouthlike. 

Just as they were comparing calendars, Mike's phone rang. 

Tommy closed out his calendar and went to Twitter, and then over to one of the game apps on his phone, tuning out Mike's conversation with the ease of long practice. He didn't look up until Mike muttered, "Fuck!"

"'S'up?" 

"Fucking Sean," Mike said and it was enough for Tommy to read between the lines. 

Waving at Mike, Tommy said, "Go. Deal with whatever he's done now. I'll take care of this." 

For a moment, he thought Mike was going to argue, but then Mike nodded and shoved his phone in his pocket. "Okay, dude. I'll get it next time." 

They stared at each other, and Tommy knew that Mike was trying to figure out what else to say or what to do. For himself, Tommy could have used a hug from Mike, but not here, not in front of so many strangers. He reached across the table, and Mike gripped Tommy's forearm, hard.

"Later," Mike finally said, and then he was gone. 

Tommy fidgeted with his phone for a while and considered just staying there all afternoon, moving from coffee to beer or wine and soaking up the anonymity. But he needed to practice for a session gig in a couple of days. So he tossed a few bills on the table, enough to cover the food and a generous tip, and slid out of the booth. He was almost at the dining counter, when he heard his name being called and a small body collided with his legs and wrapped itself around them.

"Tommy! You're here." 

"Hey, Berto." Tommy reached down and pulled him up into his arms.

"You moved away, and we haven't seen you in _ages_. Daddy said you went to live with the rich people, but I liked it better when you lived next door. When are you moving back?"

"I've got a new house now." Tommy shrugged him into a more comfortable position and glanced around the restaurant. Berto's dad, Stevie, was already heading in their direction, and Tommy went to join him

Berto squirmed, but then grabbed onto the lapels of Tommy's jacket. "I had a birthday," he said. "And there was the bestest cake. Mama made it just for me. I'm five." Berto held up one hand with his fingers outstretched, shaking it in front of Tommy's face. 

"That's cool, dude. Did you have a great party?"

"I had _everyone_ over. Sally and Markus and Joey and—"

"Come here, Berto." Stevie took Berto from Tommy's arms and placed him down on the floor. "You go over to your Mama, okay?"

"But I was talking with Tommy." 

The expression on Stevie's face had Tommy's stomach twisting. He bent down to Berto's level and gave him the best smile he could manage. "Go on," he said. "We'll see each other soon." 

"Bye," Berto said and wrapped his arms around Tommy's legs before running over to the table where his mother and two brothers were sitting. 

When Tommy straightened up, Stevie was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "You shoulda stayed up in the hills with that singer of yours." 

Shock made Tommy blurt out, "What the fuck is your problem?"

Stevie glanced back at his family and then took a step towards Tommy. He lowered his voice and said, "Not a fucking thing as long as you stay away from me and mine."

"What the hell, Stevie?" Tommy had to force himself not to back away from this guy who'd been his friend since high school and his neighbor for the past couple of years. 

"Want me to spell it out?" Stevie asked. "Fine. Keep your makeup and your nail polish and the rest of your weird shit away from my boys."

His jaw aching, his ears ringing, something inside him shaking apart, Tommy watched Stevie walk away.

o.0.o

The house was empty when Tommy got home. He kicked his creepers off in the hallway and dropped his jacket on top, abandoning them even though — or maybe because — it would fuck Adam off. He wandered into the kitchen, poked through the refrigerator, and came out with a bottle of water and a bowl of whatever crunchy shit Adam had deemed healthy that month. He almost made it to the door before turning back, dumping them on the table, and going back into the fridge for a beer.

"Fuck it," he muttered as he flicked the cap into the trash and then reached back into the fridge for a couple more bottles. 

In the living room, he replaced whatever was in the DVD player with the first disc of M*A*S*H and went to curl up on the big-ass, ridiculously comfortable couch. Halfway through the second episode, he traded his empty bottle for a full one and began mumbling dialogue along with the actors. By the time he'd moved on to the second disc, he was on his third beer.

"Stevie's a fucking asshole," Tommy told Hawkeye. "Known him since we were fucking kids. Can't believe he'd pull that homophobic shit on me." 

Hawkeye raised a glass of whatever shit they'd been brewing up in the Swamp. 

Tilting his bottle at the screen first, Tommy took a long swallow. "I was at his goddamn wedding. I fucking well changed his kids' shitty diapers. What the fuck, you know? Just what the fucking fuck."

To Tommy's horror, his voice hitched on the last word. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and tried to focus on the screen. But Hot Lips was making that face and Burns was being all kissy up, and Tommy just fucking wanted to throw his bottle at the damn TV.

"Not a good idea, Ratliff," he instructed himself and then drained the last of the beer, just in case. 

"What's not a good idea?" Adam knelt beside the couch. He stroked Tommy's hair out of his eyes, his touch so gentle that it was almost painful. 

Tommy pressed his face against Adam's and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down hard to stop himself from whining or talking or doing some stupid shit like that. Adam had enough problems; he didn't need to deal with Tommy's too.

"Tommy? Baby?" 

"Not a baby," Tommy responded automatically and stuck his tongue out at Adam. 

"What the fuck happened?" Adam asked, combing his fingers through Tommy's hair. "Do I have to kick Mike's ass?"

The half-giggling, half-sobbing noise that came out of Tommy turned into a burp, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He shook his head and mumbled, "S'not Mike."

A burst of tinny, recorded laughter came from the surround-sound, and Adam grabbed for the remote. As soon as Radar's face was frozen on the big screen, Adam removed Tommy's beer from his hands, placed it on the table, and scooped Tommy up in his arms. Tommy was still objecting to the too-rapid shift in his position when Adam resettled them onto the couch with his arms around Tommy and Tommy on top of him. 

"Tell me."

The first word was nearly impossible. A long-drawn out "goddamn" that scraped Tommy's throat as it forced its way out. "Hate people," followed more quickly. And then the words started to spill out.

"Fucking Stevie is a fucking homophobe. How the fuck could I have known the asshole for so many years and not. Fucking. Known. _That_?" Tommy all but shouted the last word into the curve of Adam's neck and shoulder. Shivers ran up and down his body, and he clung to Adam. "His kids, for fuck sake. How could he..." Tommy hiccupped. "I would never... just fucking hell, no!"

Adam's touch became even gentler, even as his left hand balled into a fist behind Tommy's back. He didn't say anything. He simply pressed his lips against the top of Tommy's head. 

"S'not your fault," Tommy said. "You can fucking well stop thinking that shit right now." 

"If we weren't—"

Tommy reached up and laid a finger over Adam's lips. He shifted until he could look into Adam's eyes. "Stevie's a fucking idiot. That's not your fault. And I'd never ever choose a fucking idiot over you."

There was a second when Tommy thought Adam was going to object, but he nodded instead. Then he sucked Tommy's finger into his mouth. At the pressure, the heat and the feeling of Adam's tongue against his skin, another shiver wracked Tommy's body. This one settled heavy and sparking at the base of his cock. He turned his finger and pulled it out, stroking the top of Adam's mouth. 

"Want you," Tommy whispered and then before Adam could speak, he added, "now," and he curled his hips, rubbing his dick against Adam's thigh in emphasis. 

Then he was being kissed, being manhandled in the way that only Adam Fucking Lambert had ever done to him. 

"Brute," Tommy said, one side of his mouth curling up in a lopsided smile. 

Adam grunted an unintelligible response and rolled them over until Tommy was on his back and Adam was on top of him. Adam's weight, his fucking reassuring weight pressing Tommy into the couch, felt so good that Tommy wrapped his arms and legs around Adam and just held on, not letting him get up or move or ease up on him at all. 

"Okay, baby," Adam murmured, his breath warm against Tommy's ear. "I've got you." 

Turning his head, Tommy bit at Adam's lips. "Don't want to be _got_ ," he said. "Want to be fucked." He wriggled his hips for emphasis, pressing in on Adam's dick, and Adam inhaled sharply. 

There was a scramble, and Tommy had to let go of Adam while they pulled off clothes and Adam grabbed the condoms and lube they'd shoved in a drawer when Leila had come over unexpectedly a couple of days earlier. But then they were back on the couch with Tommy's dark grey and black patterned blanket beneath them. Tommy had one leg hooked over the back of the couch and the other draped across Adam's thigh, and Adam was kneeling between his legs. 

Smoothing a hand down Tommy's side, pressing a fingertip into the swirling purple and black tattoo etched along Tommy's hipbone, Adam licked his lips. If he could have reached, Tommy would have curled his hand around Adam's dick, reveled in the silky feel of the skin over all that fucking hardness, rubbed his thumb through the dampness at the head. But Adam was too far away.

"You," Adam said. "How do you look like that?"

Heat flushed along Tommy's cheeks, and he shrugged. "Gotta fucking look like something, don't I?"

"Dork."

"Diva." 

"Love you, too," Adam said. He raised Tommy's leg and sucked up a kiss on the inside of his knee. 

Tommy twitched as the near-pain of that shot an ache of need through him. "Fuck, Adam." 

"Yeah." Adam's breathing quickened, and Tommy could feel the twitch of his thigh muscles as Adam rolled a condom over his dick. Before Tommy could say anything, do anything, Adam pulled Tommy's legs over his shoulders, pressed forward, trapping Tommy's legs between them, and rubbed a slick finger over Tommy's hole. 

"Hard and fast," Adam said. "You're going to fucking feel me tomorrow."

Then two of Adam's fingers were inside him. Twisting and moving in and out. Blunt and thick, stretching him, slicking him up. 

Tommy's head arched back, and an incoherent noise escaped him as he pushed down onto Adam's fingers. They rocked back and forth. Adam's dick rubbed against the crease of Tommy's thigh. He licked and sucked on Tommy's neck. Leaving marks, Tommy hoped. 

Rotating his hips, Tommy tried to spread his legs further, to pull Adam's fingers in deeper, but Adam pulled them out instead. And, before Tommy could complain, Adam's dick was pressing inside. Slowly, bit by bit, opening Tommy up more and more. 

"Fuck yeah," Tommy groaned. "Just fucking yeah." 

Adam had barely used any lube, hadn't stretched Tommy open quite enough, and it was perfect. The pull, the drag, Tommy could feel everything. The almost painful, always fucking good, burn of Adam's thrusts. The lick, the suck, the bite of his kisses on Tommy's neck and collarbone. The stretch of Tommy's muscles as Adam rested on him. The exquisite bump of Tommy's dick over Adam's stomach with each movement.

His back arched, his head back, Tommy lifted his hips and met Adam stroke for stroke. Tommy muttered encouragement in words and syllables and sounds, in the scratching of his nails and the slide of his hands up and down Adam's back. 

"Want," Tommy gasped. "Now."

Then Adam was kissing him, claiming him. And Tommy was all but fucking screaming as he came, pulsing out his release between them, clawing at Adam's skin as he tried to hold on. His ass clamped down on Adam's dick, and Adam called out Tommy's name, clutching him tightly, pulling him up off the couch as he held on and shuddered through his orgasm.

When Tommy could think again, he was being carried upstairs and into their bathroom. 

"Mine," Tommy said, kissing Adam hard, sucking Adam's breath into his lungs. "And no fucking asshole gets to tell me otherwise."

Adam looked down at him, a smile dancing through his eyes and some ridiculously soft emotion curving his mouth, and Tommy grinned back.


End file.
